Soma
by AristoMuse
Summary: To create more powerful Personas, you must sacrifice at least two. But a Persona is a reflection of your soul...so are you killing yourself? (A darker look at Persona 5's Velvet Room and the consequences of its fusion methods.)
1. Chapter 1

Putting this story here on FFNET as well! I'm not sure if this can belong here because it's pretty dark. Somewhat of a character study as well as a further exploration of the P5 Velvet Room. Featuring every fusion process in a much more realistic and dark approach.

 **WARNING: LIKE SUPER WARNING: READ THIS** : This fic contains gore, self-harm, dysphoria, death, blood, cannibalism, loss of sense of self, psychological trauma, psychological horror, mutilation, etc. If you are queasy with any of these, STOP READING.

I really wanted to put this above rated M, like explicit, but FFNET doesn't offer that high of a rating, so I'm unsure if I can even post this. If not, I'll take it down for AO3 only.

 **READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.**

* * *

 **So·ma**

ˈ/sōmə/

The body as distinct from the soul, mind, or psyche.

* * *

To create more powerful Personas, you must sacrifice at least two. But a Persona is a reflection of your soul...so are you killing yourself?

When you fuse Personas, no matter their shape or size, they end up in a human sized body bag...why is that?

* * *

Waking up with a gasp, Akira slowly looked around the hard stone that surrounded him on almost all sides. The cot underneath him was hard, a far contrast from his lumpy mattress in Leblanc. Water dripped nearby, one drop at a time, slowly drilling into his ears and into his brain. Though there was no wind, it was chilly and dark, the only light coming from past his head.

Slowly sitting up, he grimaced when the heavy metal cuffs bit into his wrists and ankles, chaining him to himself. They jangled as he stood up and dragged his feet to the bars that imprisoned him from the rest of the prison. His thin and dirty inmate uniform did nothing to help shield him from the cold bite of the metal, and he stared out pensively as Justine and Caroline stepped in front of his cell.

"Inmate." Caroline greeted him with a sneer, her one yellow eye glowing like acid within the dark jail. "Our master wants to talk to you."

Tapping his heel against the plush blue carpet beneath his desk, Igor chuckled in his seat. He was a strange sort of man in a suit with a long nose. His bloodshot eyes were always wide open, and the grin of his mouth was ever present. Couple that with his deep dual toned voice, he presented himself as strictly non-human.

"Trickster..." Igor greeted him. "I have decided to bestow a new power upon you. You have discovered you can take Shadows into yourself to become your new Personas, but they are not the limit. No," He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. "There are more possibilities than you can imagine."

"What...What do you mean?" Akira asked warily, gripping the steel bars tightly. He didn't like how he was at the mercy of these people, how they can just summon him in his sleep. He barely knew anything about them except their names and that the strange man had given him the power of Personas.

He had no idea what he was dealing with.

Igor chuckled again and laced his hands in front of him on his polished wooden desk. "I shall allow these two to explain it to you."

Justine turned to him, apathetic as always. "Our task is to rehabilitate you from your current self. That means we must help you become stronger. While we cannot physically affect you," Her eye hooded mysteriously, the other covered by a black eyepatch with a V stitch. "We can strengthen your Personas...By creating new ones."

His breath hitched. "What? What is that supposed to mean?" He demanded, trying to understand what they meant. Wasn't a Persona a person's inner self? How was he supposed to make new ones?

A resounding smack against the steel bars caused his heart to jump and he took a quick step back, away from Caroline's baton. She glared at him. "Shut your mouth, Inmate! You should be grateful we're spending our valuable time to help you since you're so weak." She crossed her arms. "You can combine two of your Personas to become another Shadow from the Sea of Souls. That Shadow will then become your new Persona. Got it?"

"But..." He began to protest but they ignored him. With a wave of her hand, Justine held his mask in her hand and Akira quieted, his eyes trained on the object. Pixie...

Caroline holds out her hand as well and he clenched his jaw. Arsene..! "Wait." He called out urgently, panic setting in as they held his most vulnerable part. "What are you doing to them?"

The brattier twin gave him a look. "Making you stronger. They're weak right now and frankly that's not gonna pass."

Justine looked up at him with a speculative frown. "Do not worry." She held up her clipboard that seemed to fade from reality for a moment, the words on the paper changing from whatever it was to a list of his Personas. "They are recorded in my compendium, and you can summon them back if you so wish to."

He quieted at that. That didn't seem too bad...His eyes slid to his main mask and his chest panged. Arsene was his first Persona, but if he wanted a chance against Kamoshida, he would need to be stronger. I'm sorry. "...All right." He reluctantly acquiesced.

He felt like he just made the worst and best choice of his life.

With a flick of their wrists, they threw his masks torward the center of the room and his Personas appeared in a sea of blue light. Pixie looked around, confused, while Arsene only inclined his head, as if he already knew his fate. "I am the other you who exists within you...Though I may disappear this moment, I shall always be at your side." He laughed mysteriously at his Human, and Akira slowly nodded. Even he was blase about this. Maybe it wasn't so bad-

With a snap of her finger, Caroline summoned two guillotines. The sharp blades gleamed blue in the dim lighting, slowly pulling up to the top of the contraption. The twins grasped thick sack-like blankets and threw them over the two Personas and Akira watched with wide eyes.

Time seemed to slow as Pixie finally understood and gave him a tearful look, as if he betrayed her and left her to die. Her small fairy like appearance faded away to be replaced by- That curly black hair, those angled brows, those gray eyes with thick lashes, the prison uniform that hung on his lean frame.

He was looking at **himself**.

He was frozen to his spot as his lookalike closed his eyes with resignation just as the fabric covered him, concealing him from seeing the horrors within. The two bundles struggled as it was their instinct for survival, but their fate was sealed.

Justine snapped her fingers and the blades screeched, falling down toward their targets- _him_. With a sickening crunch, black blood spilled into the air and the too human shaped body bags laid still, the fabric covered heads rolling off onto the floor.

Akira felt like gasping for air as against his will, his eyes were drawn to the darkness inside the fabric, and something in him snapped when he saw his own face, staring ahead blankly, neck cut off.

Oh my god...oh my god...oh my god...

The remains of his Personas glowed and twisted together, forming a new being from the Sea of Souls. Though Akira could see it was a Shadow he had never encountered, he couldn't get over the fact that he just killed his Personas.

He watched himself be beheaded.

He _felt_ himself be beheaded.

His vision clouded as tears came to his eyes, but he refused to cry even though he silently trembled from the existential revelation. Just by observing the twins and how nonchalant they were, he realized this was supposed to be normal. But how..? How could killing himself be normal? He just lost his own Personas to this- this murder device..!

The new Persona transformed into a copy of his mask and flew to his face. He felt it rest inside his soul, in the very same place that Pixie used to reside.

What was his soul then? If he could just sacrifice copies of himself to become "stronger." No regular human could just cut himself into pieces and be perfectly fine.

 **What was he?**

* * *

 _Future chapters will be much more explicit. Again, read at your own discretion._


	2. Chapter 2

Akira nodded quietly as Morgana chattered to him in his ear as he walked down the busy streets of Shibuya. The naturally noisy and brightly colored streets were filled with shoppers, advertisers, and tourists. Trying not to bump into anyone, he made his way to Central Street, crossing the large intersection toward 109.

Even though there were so many different people and different colorful lights flashing all around him, everything felt gray.

Nothing felt right anymore, if they ever did.

The colors felt muted, the people more akin to walking mannequins. His every movement was mechanical as if he wasn't _human_.

"It's getting late, shouldn't we get back to the cafe?" Morgana asked quietly, tail waving in the air from within his bag. The feline had decided to live with him and forced him to carry him everywhere he went. Perhaps he would've protested at this before, but now he just accepted it. What was the point of arguing? He was a much needed ally within the Metaverse and had contributed greatly to their fight against Kamoshida.

The gym teacher's Shadow had stood no chance against his Eligor. He had accepted another new Persona into his...his...himself.

Akira clenched his jaw. What was he? A normal person like Ann, Ryuji, and even Morgana could only have one Persona, and yet he could have more than one. He could have six. Maybe even more. "Hey, Morgana..."

The feline's ears twitched at the sound of its name. "Yeah?"

"Can you..." He paused awkwardly, trying to find a way to word this without being weird or invasive. "Zorro is a part of you, right? Do you feel...complete?"

Morgana blinked. "Of course. Zorro is a part of my heart, therefore he's me. If he ceased to exist, then that would mean I would be dead." It lectured. "Just like how you have Arsene, Lady Ann has Carmen, and dumb Ryuji has Captain Kidd. Personas are us."

Akira looked down. But Arsene wasn't a part of him anymore. He had watched him shed his otherworldly appearance to become him, and then get beheaded. He watched as his own head rolled onto the stone cold floor, black blood pooling underneath to taint the sack cloth.

He headed up to the Diner and got a booth for himself. Leaving his bag and Morgana there, he headed into the restroom. He wasn't hungry or thirsty. He hadn't been since...since...since he died.

Closing the door and making sure it was locked, he stared at himself in the mirror. Large gray eyes surrounded by thick lashes looked back at him through clear glasses, black curls occasionally falling into his vision. His skin was light and unblemished, and lifting up a hand to eye level, he examined the thick blue vein under his skin.

His Personas...His selves had bled black. His fingers slowly caressed the smooth skin, able to feel the rhythmic pulsing just underneath. Did he bleed black too...?

He glanced around the bare toilet stall, half wondering if anyone was here, before slowly pulling out a swiss knife from the pocket of his jeans. Flicking the blade open, he observed with a dispassionate gaze as the dim restroom light fixtures reflected off of the cool metal.

Would he bleed human?

Placing the blade before his vein, he clenched his jaw tightly. His heart pounded in his chest, sending more blood to and from the vital organ. What color would it be? Would it tell him he was human? Or did he bleed black, and he was really some kind of- of _monster_ that only appeared human?

His breathing turned shaky as he pressed the sharp edge against his skin, putting enough pressure until it finally penetrated his flesh with a slight sting. Dark liquid seeped out from his self-given wound between the blade, slowly pooling out and dripping from his wrist and onto the porcelain sink.

Red. A very dark red but red nonetheless.

He let out a silent exhale, whether it was out of relief or disappointment, he couldn't tell. Nothing was clear to him anymore, not even with results like this. Quickly bandaging his wound, he made sure it would be covered by the sleeve of his black suit jacket before washing the blade and his own hands clean of sanguine. He didn't need Morgana to smell blood on him.

He couldn't let anyone know.

They wouldn't understand.

* * *

Turning the corner at the crepe shop, he paused when he noticed Caroline sitting on top of a jail cell door- _his_ jail cell door. She swung her short legs back and forth as a bored frown occupied her childish face, her blue cap shielding her eye.

He slowly walked up to the gate and everything paused around him. Noise ceased to be. Looking out toward the main street, he noticed that everyone was frozen in time. Teenagers were in mid conversation with their phones as their foot was just about to hit the ground. Businessmen swung their briefcases up, never swinging back down. Womens' dresses fluttered in the cool May breeze, as still as death.

"Inmate."

He turned back around, even noticing Morgana had disappeared from his bag, and regarded the otherworldly parole officer with trepidation. "Hey..."

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and jerked her chin toward the jail cell door. "Our master has opened another doorway for you into the Velvet Room. Be grateful." She stated shortly. "You going in?"

He pursed his lips. Did he want to go back to where he watched himself die? No. It had changed him fundamentally, even though these people treated it as an everyday occurrence. But... "Justine had mentioned I could summon my old Personas again..." He murmured quietly. "Is that true..?"

She tapped her mary jane on the concrete. "You'll just have to see for yourself." With a snap of her fingers, the rusted bars creaked open, showing a blue void into nothing. He hesitated but a small foot shoved him forward and he stumbled, falling into the unknown yet known abyss.

He held in his screams as he fell, the weightlessness in his stomach making him feel nauseous. Even though he was clearly falling, he wasn't falling as fast as he should've been, as if gravity itself was distorted in this land of between. The very air squeezed and stretched him in ways he couldn't even explain. Large black chains rattled around him, their edges as sharp as a knife, and he tried to change his trajectory away from them.

With a gasp, he blinked and found himself on the wooden cot once again, already clothed in his inmate uniform. He resisted the urge to hurl as vertigo struck him, changing from falling to already sitting up. His throat swelled and his diaphragm flexed, but he held it in. His vision doubled, and he held a hand to his head, trying to keep himself upright even as he swayed.

Metal jangled as he slowly stood up and shuffled to the cell bars that imprisoned him from his wardens. Justine was here this time and stared up at him with one cool eye. "Inmate." She greeted coolly. "What may I assist you with?"

He licked his lips, trying to say the words he desperately wanted to be true. "I want..." He rasped, voice rough from his earlier experience. "I want Arsene." He wanted him back. His own Persona that had only existed within him. He wanted to be alive again. He wanted...He wanted...

He wanted himself.

She nodded and flipped through her clipboard, browsing through hundreds of blank name slots. His stomach sank as she went through several pages. Did that mean he had more Personas to get? To erase himself with?

She stopped at one. Tracing her finger over the name, she lifted it from its page and the English letters floated in her hand, ghostly wisps wavering slightly. She threw them toward the center of the prison hall and with a flash of blue light, Arsene appeared with a flap of his dark feathery wings. "We meet again, Master." The English gentleman thief greeted Akira and he felt his breath hitch.

He was back. He was here..!

Akira felt his eyes mist over in relief. Would he be back to normal again?

Glowing gently, his first Persona disappeared into a copy of his mask and flew at him, entering his chest. He held a hand to his heart as he felt him settle in the same spot he used to reside, but...

No.

It didn't feel right anymore. He sat weird, as if the spot had grown and broken and now what was once a throne was now a crumbling husk. Bones contorted out, carnage still clinging to the remnants. A sickly sweet scent arose into the air, polluting his very soul.

It felt wrong wrong _wrong_.

He furrowed his brows as he began to hyperventilate, gray eyes unseeing anything in front of him as he tried to comprehend why, just _why_ Arsene didn't feel right anymore.

 _"You have grown without me."_

He stilled.

 _"Your heart has changed in my absence."_

No...

 _"I am not the Arsene you know, for that Arsene has dissipated into another. I am the Arsene that existed up until his fusion."_

Then who am I?

 _"You...are my master."_

 _"Our master..."_

Several voices intoned after Arsene, and he closed his eyes.

 **But not Kurusu Akira.**


	3. Chapter 3

_Reposted due to some weird FFNET glitch_

* * *

"Lend me your power." Joker commanded, pointing his 9mm at the Shadow. It sighed in relief at being spared and glowing a soft white light, it turned into a replica of his mask and merged with his soul.

"Another Shadow became your Persona!" Mona praised from the side, letting his scimitar fade away. "You're really becoming our ace in the hole, Joker!"

"Man," Skull grumbled lightheartedly. "You're just gettin' all these new ones. You think I can grab a new one, too?"

Panther placed her hands on her hips, frowning at her fellow blond. "Way to diss Captain Kidd!"

Joker smirked, even though the action felt empty. Even as his soul was filled to the brim, he felt like nothing more than a carrier of bones and sinew that transported a consciousness throughout the day. His ribs served as a wall to harvest new Personas, to trap them within his mutilated soul.

Finishing off their target within Mementos, they wound up back at the entrance where to his left, he could see Justine guarding the gates to the Velvet Room. Joker glanced at his comrades and took a few steps to the young parole officer, even as he felt the dread creep up his back at the anticipated pain.

He was too full now. He had to cut himself anew. Even if he didn't want to...

Even though Arsene had faltered in becoming stronger, the gentleman thief sent his master a pulse of reassurance. It was all he could do, sat in the rotting throne. Soon, another would replace him, and another, and another...

Until there were no traces of the original left.

Justine gave the phantom thief a nod and stepped aside. The gate swung open with an ominous creak, and cold air breezed through from the abyss. Taking a deep breath, Joker stepped through and allowed himself to fall.

As soon as the gate swung closed behind him, any noise was vacuumed from his senses, leaving him deaf even though he knew he had perfect hearing. It was almost as if the road to the realm of his wardens would be too much for his mortal ears. He couldn't even hear the sound of his heartbeat.

He blinked, laid down on his cell's cot, and immediately closed his eyes, vertigo hitting him a split second after. His diaphragm contracted but he resisted the urge to vomit and slowly stood up, idly noting that he was dressed in his prisoner's uniform again. Dragging the heavy chains behind him that were shacked to his wrists and ankles, he stared out warily at Igor and the twins, staying silent.

Igor only grinned at him, eyes wide open with pinprick pupils. "Trickster." He greeted the teenager with his usual dual toned voice that never failed to send a shiver down his spine. "How may I help you?"

Heart beating fast inside his chest, Akira took a deep breath to try to calm himself. Every time he was here, it felt like he was making a mistake. No matter how many times the twins reassured him, albeit bluntly and rudely, that these were proper methods, he hated it.

He hated it because they were telling him he had to disfigure himself.

"I want to do a fusion." Akira mumbled out reluctantly, already feeling like he had committed a sin. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...' As if saying that to himself would make this better.

It didn't.

Igor only grinned wider if that was possible, his cheek muscles contorting to show an alarming amount of teeth. "Girls, if you will."

The twins stepped closer to his cell, Caroline crossing her arms. "What do you want, Inmate?" She tapped her foot impatiently. "You're still too weak."

"Indeed." Justine agreed with her, flipping through her clipboard of notes. "To stand a chance against your future adversaries, you must strengthen yourself."

Grimacing, Akira resisted the urge to shudder and reached inside himself. Holding out his hand, he offered two masks.

Snatching them from his hand, Caroline observed them before sliding her gaze back to him. "Guess you're finally getting comfortable." She scoffed. "Very well then. Justine!"

The more stoic twin snapped her fingers and in a flash of blue fire, two guillotines appeared within the large prison hall. The blades on top glinted from the harsh lamp on Igor's desk, well oiled and sharpened for their tasks.

Akira bit his lip to stay silent as Caroline threw his masks into the center of the room. Jack Frost and Eligor appeared and they looked around, confused and slightly afraid. Jack Frost trembled, hiding behind his fellow Persona in an attempt to garner some feeling of safety, but...it was all for naught.

"Shape up!" Caroline yelled at them, already pulling the rough sack-like material over them. As it blanketed over the Personas, Akira could only try to quiet the ache inside himself as two identical raven-haired gray-eyed teenage boys lurch their gazes at him, his heart freezing at the stark betrayal in their expressions.

He could only watch as the other versions of him were bundled up and held down into the guillotines. He could just barely stay calm as with a ear piercing screech, the guillotine blades accelerated down and severed their covered heads with a sickening crack.

He could taste the copper tang of blood in his mouth and he could scent it in the air. Black spewed from the stump where their- _his_ necks used to be, pooling and staining the gaps between the brick flooring.

With shaking hands, he slowly reached up to touch his own neck, finding the skin unmarred, smooth, and wholly there. His fingertips trailed around, trying to find the gap in his skin that showed that he had been beheaded too.

He had felt it. How for just a split second, the blade only pushed at the sack, until there was too much force and it ripped through the fabric and tore at his flesh, finding just enough resistance from his spine but even that collapsed under the weight of gravity and metal. Severing each sinew, each blood vessel, his capillaries bursting, trying to exist and maintain the life within.

Snuffed out within a second.

His corpses began to glow and the light merged together, creating an amalgamation of his disfigured soul. As it flew into him, it stitched the open wounds closed, but they were still there, raw and festering inside him like a rotting fruit in the hot sun.

He carefully relaxed his jaw, instinctively swallowing the blood that had come about from him biting the inside of his cheek. He was nowhere near the end of this nightmare.

"Before you go," Igor spoke up, snapping him out of his trance. "I would like to bestow a new fusion skill. Girls."

Justine held up her clipboard, a reminder of how many times he might watch himself die. "Our master has deigned to give you this gift. You should be grateful." She stated coolly. "We offer you the chance to strengthen a Persona of your choice by sacrificing another one. The sacrifice will be consumed and the recipient will learn a new skill."

Akira nodded mechanically. No matter what, he would keep Arsene with him. Even if this Arsene wasn't _his_ Arsene.

He had no one left to remind him of who he was.

Arsene appeared in a sea of light, hovering above the cold cobblestone with his formidable black feathery wings. Thinking it over for a moment with a detached feeling, Akira decided to sacrifice Jack-O-Lantern. With Panther on his team, he didn't really need a fire Persona, and it was much weaker than his other Personas.

He paused for a moment and chuckled bitterly to himself. 'Look at me, gambling parts of myself away as if they didn't have feelings...' Because they did. He could feel echoes of their thoughts, their feelings, their _suffering_ when he let them be beheaded. They weren't always aware of his own perceptions, only when they were summoned outside of him. He had to see the betrayal on their faces. E _very. Single. Time_.

To fight monsters, he himself had to become a monster.

He reached through the bars, giving Caroline the mask of Jack-O-Lantern. Taking it, the rougher twin stomped her foot. The floor rumbled for a moment with him looking around, darkly wondering what was going to happen this time.

The floor split open and a metal throne rose up from the depths, wires connecting a helmet to the generators strapped to the sides. His blood ran cold. An electric chair.

Caroline threw his mask at the throne and Jack-O-Lantern appeared, looking around for a moment. The pumpkin Persona finally realized what was happening and the flame within its lantern withered into cinder, chilled by its own coming demise.

Akira watched, struggling to keep a straight face even as once again, the Persona transformed into an identical copy of himself. The same hair. The same face. The same body. The same eyes. Another Akira.

Justine strapped him in and Akira's eyes widened. They weren't covering him from his view-

Millions of volts coursed through his veins, frying his nerves and muscles. He could feel his own brain melting within his skull into pudding, killing every single cell inside him that made him _him_. It was freezing, it was lava hot, it was cool, it was warm, it was wet, it was dry, it was- _pain_.

The scent of his burnt flesh filled his nose and Akira couldn't help it. Running back to the toilet inside his cell, he bent over and vomited whatever was remaining in his stomach until the acid burned his esophagus and his throat, making him cough more from the sensation than from the actual contents.

Wiping his mouth of saliva, he shakily turned back to look at what remained of himself. A charred corpse slumped over, the restraints being the only things that held him up. Smoke slowly rose up from his blackened skin, his eyeballs having burst from the volts of electricity and leaving trails of coagulating blood down his face. His mouth was wide open as if he had screamed, but there hadn't been any noises that emanated from him. He had died without a voice.

But the nightmare wasn't over.

Arsene finally landed on the floor, his knife heeled boots making naught a sound. The smoke changed direction for just a moment from the sudden shift in wind, but settled once more in a steady stream up to the stone ceiling.

Bending over the back of the chair, his maw within his mask opened, extending past the limit of a human's or even an animal's jaw. His top hat almost touched the top of his back with how far he opened his mouth, and his lower jaw hung unhinged near his cravat.

With a raspy exhale, he began his feast.

Akira couldn't look away. How Arsene's obsidian fangs tore through his fragile human shoulder, warm blood spurting in the air from each chomp. How Arsene tore his arm off and swallowed it whole, a long pointed tongue licking the edges of his oral cavity of any leftover gore. How Arsene savored each bite, as if it was a morsel to cherish.

Bone and cartilage crunched under his strong jaws, each crack piercing through his ears. The wet sound of him slurping up his veins and arteries, the splattering of blood when his fangs pierced his heart, bursting it like fresh fruit.

It felt like an eternity before Arsene finished his meal. With one last swallow, his throat extending to accommodate the size of his head, the Persona glowed, returning back to his dormant state as his mask.

When the mask returned to his soul, Akira could almost taste the unique flavor of charred human flesh.

He was more nauseated by the fact that it tasted delicious than he was watching himself be eaten.

* * *

Turning off the single light bulb in the attic of Cafe Leblanc, he laid down on his lumpy mattress and stared up at the dusty wooden beams that made up the ceiling, Morgana snoring quietly next to him. It was quiet, only the chatter emanating from the bar a few doors down filled the back streets of Yongejaya. Through his dusty windows, the night sky shone brighter than the cheap street lamps, casting large shadows into his room.

His name was Kurusu Akira. He was sixteen years old. He was 5'9", with black hair and gray eyes. His parents were named Kurusu Hideaki and Kurusu Suzume. He came from Mishima, Japan. He liked playing video games, he didn't really like sweet things, and he went to school at Shujin Academy in Aoyama-Itchome, Tokyo. His guardian is named Sakura Sojiro. He had two friends named Sakamoto Ryuji and Takamaki Ann. He had a companion by the name of Morgana who was a talking cat. He could delve into the Metaverse as Joker. He was h-u-m-a-n.

'My name is Kurusu Akira. I'm sixteen years old...' He repeated in his mind, distracting himself from remembering what had happened earlier. How he watched himself die again. How he watched himself be electrocuted, being able to witness the very torture that he put his soul through with his own eyes. How a reflection of himself ate his own body.

How he knew he would have to do it again and again and again and again

and again

and again

and again...

* * *

 _I changed the electric chair to powering up a Persona instead of making it an item, and I'll be making the gallows into item creation instead. It of course will also be quite dark._


	4. Chapter 4

A constant thudding sounded out from the umbrella above him. His brown boots disturbed the blemishes on the black asphalt, splashing the occasional puddle. People, adults of all ages and careers sped past him, heels clacking and loafers patting towards shelter. The neon signs that tried to lure him into their brothels and bars illuminated the entire district, like a halo of color in a world of despairing gray people.

Looking around Tokyo's den of sin and depravity while rain poured down above and around him, Akira slowly blinked, his lashes brushing against the lens of his glasses.

They were fogged up from the light condensation in the air, rendering the harsh lights in his vision into a soft glow. There was something akin to peace now, with no advertisers shouting for him to visit their bars, women in revealing outfits trying to seduce him for his wallet, or even police officers coming to interrogate him. The smell of cigarettes, piss, and vomit were masked by the cool rain, the earth trying to wash away the virus that was humankind.

Shinjuku was quiet and he wanted everything but quiet right now.

Continuing on his way, he shouldered his leather bag, making sure the objects inside were completely hidden and unscathed. He could almost smell his blood wafting out...

* * *

 **Earlier**

Nodding to Ohya, Akira left the dark pink of Crossroads and into the multi colored streets of Shinjuku.

He had been able to strike another deal, this time with the shady reporter who gave him his last target's name. He had even gained a new member, the student president Niijima Makoto. It was almost disorienting to see her be so cold with them to now being teammates with her. He wanted to tell her how foolish she was for trusting the very people she tried to interrogate. To allow them to watch her back in the other realm when two weeks ago, she knew of them only as the troublemakers.

To willingly walk into their profession without knowing the truth about her new leader.

He tightened his grip on his bag, his nails biting into his palm. No, there was no other truth. She knew all that she needed to know, and he had another member to look after in battle. There was nothing he was hiding, nothing he was concealing from the very people he was suppose to trust. He was a phantom thief, fighting alongside them.

'My name is Kurusu Akira. I'm 16 years old. My parents are named Kurusu Hideaki and Kurusu Suzume. I like videogames and I dislike sweet things...' He repeated to himself in his head, over and over again.

In his chest, he could feel something stir. One of his new Personas, Isis, heard him and sent an unwavering pulse of reassurance.

He hated it.

Hated how his selves trusted him, hated how his team trusted him, hated how people who didn't know his name or his face trusted him. Why? Why did they trust him? When he couldn't even trust the words coming out of his mouth or the words he repeated in his own mind?

Stopping in the middle of Shinjuku, Akira forced himself to let out the breath that he had unknowingly kept in. Taking another deep breath, he relaxed his shoulders, ignoring how people walked passed him to get to their destinations.

Fluttering his eyes open, he looked up at the myriad of colors that were reflected off his glasses, trying to distract himself from the darkness that was his head. Looking around the busy district, a blue light attracted his gaze and he turned his head to the right.

And found a molten gold eye staring right back at him.

Time stood still; People stopped mid-walk, their foot still in the air. Chatter immediately ceased, almost deafening him with the silence it left in its wake. Even the sound of fluorescent lighting in the billboards and signs around him halted.

His gaze slid from left to right, from the people who were frozen, to the pigeons that were in mid flight, stuck in the air, and finally back to the one eye he was truly coming to despise with what little emotion he could even feel these days.

Caroline stared back at him with a sneer on her otherwise cherubic face, swinging her legs back and forth on top of the barred gate that led to his nightmares. "Coming, inmate?" She spat at him, narrowing her one eye.

Akira only nodded, dragging his feet over to where she had situated herself. He side stepped several adults who obstructed his path as if they were lawn ornaments, mere decorations whose existences mattered little to none.

Walking up to the gate, he waited with a detached feeling in his chest, almost calm even. The gate swung open, releasing a quick gust of cold and dead air in his face. Before he realized it, a foot was planted firmly in his back and he was sent careening straight into the portal to the inbetween.

Blue light enveloped his surroundings and he fell through for what seemed like eons, the sharp black chains rattling silently around him. He couldn't even hear the blood in his ears, he didn't know if he was breathing in this realm, he knew nothing and felt nothing.

Finding himself on his wooden cot within a second too quick for him to comprehend, Akira clenched his eyes shut as he waited out the vertigo he had grown used to. Taking a deep breath to chase away the nausea that began to boil in the pit of his stomach, he forced himself to get up and walk over to the gates of his cell where warm light shone from the middle of the prison hall.

A wide grin greeted him as it always did, the shadows dancing on his inhuman face and highlighting every wrong stretch of muscle. "Trickster." Igor greeted him. "You have grown exponentially. I would like to reward you for your efforts, as a way to help you with your current obstacle in the Palace of Sloth."

Akira only nodded with a blank face, refusing to say a word. What was the point of arguing? What was the point of anything? He was only their puppet; theirs to bend and break.

Igor only grinned wider at his silence and gestured to the twin wardens before sitting back in his leather chair. Justine stepped up with her usual clipboard where he could already see several names in what had been blank spaces before. "Inmate," She greeted monotonously with a cooler facade compared to her sister's. "You should feel honored that our Master would bestow this to you. It will not only help you grow stronger, but your team as well." She held out her hand. "A Persona, if you will."

He stared down at her small palm, covered with a skin tight black glove. If he compared it to his own, hers would be twice as small, or even smaller than that. How was it that something so small could be one of the instigators of his retched present?

Letting out an unnoticeable sigh, he held out his hand and summoned a mask, letting her take it. Caroline slammed her foot down onto the stone floor and with a rumble, the next method of his insanity appeared. Bathed in the blue light of this other realm, the barbaric wooden structure groaned ominously once it settled in its place, the sound sending a shiver down his spine.

The gallows.

Justine threw his mask into the air and with a wisp of golden light, Isis appeared with a beauteous smile on her face. She looked at her owner with completely trusting eyes, unaware of what her fate was to be. Akira felt something inside him hurt at just how much she trusted him and how he was about to destroy that trust in a matter of seconds.

Please, no more. It couldn't be worse than last time when Arsene ate his charred corpse, and how the taste of his own flesh lingered in his mouth for days to the point where he forced himself to eat curry and coffee without pause to scald the nerves on his tongue. He could still remember the smell, the salivating smell of his burnt skin, his cooked flesh, the copper tang. It couldn't be worse.

He was wrong.

Isis frowned when she noticed the twins approach her, burlap fabric already in their hands, and she took a step back toward the edge of the round hall. Raising a hand, she found that she couldn't use her powers at all inside the Velvet Room, and turned around to silently beg the one person she trusted to save her. He would, right? She was a part of him, a new part of him as well that had only just settled into a gap in his being.

It was her new home, even if that home was desolate with bones jutting out into a cairn of thrones. Her other counterparts had come and gone aside from the red one who sat silently at the highest throne of all. She had not even had time to introduce herself to him, but her owner would save her, welcome her back into his soul so that she could. She was a part of him. I am thou and thou art I.

Right?

Caroline frowned at the Persona's behavior. "C'mon! Fulfill your duty!" She shouted, holding one hand out. An unknown force began to drag the priestess back and she panicked, gripping onto the steel bars of his cell. She begged him, eyes full of fear, hand stretched out into his cell to reach out for him.

Her fingertips were close enough to brush against his nose, allowing him to scent the dry sand of her skin, and Akira watched with a shattered heart as Justine threw the fabric on top of her.

Time slowed as her red skin paled into a milky white, her cerulean eyes trading for a terrified gray, her golden headdress melting into black curls, her form morphing into a male's. Akira begged his owner to take him back, to save him from the cruel fate of their handlers, and Akira could only stare with wide eyes at the true terror his mirror image exuded with every ounce of his being.

As the fabric began to wrap around the boy, the fear in those gray irises gave way to heart wrenching betrayal, followed by the cold dead of resignation. He knew he was being sacrificed, that his form as Isis wasn't enough. He would never be enough.

The rough fabric pulled him back away from the bars of the cell, enveloping his outstretched hand last, and covered his body from head to toe. It was then kicked onto the coarse wood of the platform where Caroline roped it in place with the sharp square shaped chain that dangled from the top of the structure. Making sure it was securely wrapped around where the neck would be, the little warden walked off the gallows and kicked the lever beside it.

With a bang, the platform gave way and the body bag fell. A resounding crack echoed in the halls of the prison once the chain was pulled taut, followed by an almost silent gurgle. Akira felt the vertebrae in his neck dislocate, pulled apart from one another, separating the nerves in his brain from the rest of his body. It was a quick death.

Once the deed was done, the gallows disappeared and the body bag of his dead self fell onto the stone floor with a smack. He stared at it with wide eyes, wondering what was going to happen. Wasn't it over? Wasn't it enough that he had to continue witnessing himself die over and over again? Wasn't it enough that Isis had been the first Persona to actually beg him, to cry out to him for help? Wasn't it enough-

The bag moved.

Akira held his breath, watching as it began to wiggle. Was Isis still alive? Did he somehow survive?

Something pushed at the fabric prison around it, but he couldn't tell what kind of limb it was. As he continued to watch with bated breath, dread and horror began to creep into his soul when he realized that the shape had stopped being human. He had no idea what was inside that bag anymore, but he knew it wasn't Isis or himself.

With a rip, _it_ tore out of its confinements, taking a raspy breath through its orifice. Its peachy pink flesh bubbled like liquid, as if it hadn't finished deciding what form it should be, and the blood vessels that crossed _outside_ of its skin was strung around it. With an inhuman shriek, as if it was in a constant state of agony, it began contorting again.

With each malformation, bones cracked, muscles tightened until it snapped, and it deformed into itself. What was around six feet of pure monstrosity became disfigured cubes, lying innocently on the floor.

With a calmness that betrayed the true horror that happened right before her, Justine walked up to the cubes and picked them up in her hands, not minding the blood and fluids that began to coat her gloves. Turning around from the viscous mess in the prison, she walked up to his cell and held them out to him. "Consume these and they will teach you a new skill." She informed him coolly. "Any of your companions may also use these items."

Acid burned the back of his throat as he smelled the putrid stench from what was once his flesh, and he hesitantly accepted his boon with shaking hands. Looking down at them, he realized just how red his meat was, how stark white his bones were, how his blood vessels that wrapped around them like gift wrapping stood out entrancingly in blue and red. The smell was of rot; sickeningly sweet that made his mouth involuntarily water.

Without even blinking, he found himself back in Shinjuku, still staring at the carnage in his hands. Time resumed as if nothing happened, as if he hadn't just witnessed himself becoming a monster and then into _these_. People walked past him without a glance, somehow not seeing the sinew that covered his hands.

Within a few seconds, Akira felt a drop of water land on top of his head, followed by more. In an instant, it began to rain, as if the earth was trying to wipe his sins from existing on this plane. Footsteps hurried around him to quickly find shelter, and he mechanically moved to place his flesh cubes into his bag before taking out his umbrella.

Without looking at the inhuman warden who took a seat on top of the gate once more, he forced himself to move. To go.

Keep going.

Don't look back.

Don't cry.

* * *

"So, these will help us learn a new skill?" Panther asked from her seat in the Safe Room. She held up one of the cubes he created the other day, peering at it curiously without any signs of discomfort.

Joker nodded, his tongue feeling like lead in his mouth as he watched each of his teammates pick up a square of his flesh and bone from the table.

Fox hummed thoughtfully, leaning against the sandstone wall of the Palace. "Who knew a card was all it took to learn a highly coveted skill?"

His eyes locked onto what was clearly to him an abomination of his disfigured body. So they saw a card..? But he knew what he was seeing, what he was smelling, what he tasted-

Queen eyed the item in her hand. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try." And without pause, placed the item between her lips. The card glowed before entering her soul, teaching her Diarama. The others watched in awe as she glowed briefly from her new skill and without ado, used their own cards.

Joker watched with wide eyes as they placed cubes of his wrangled flesh into their mouths, blood and pus oozing from the corners of their lips. He saw what they couldn't see, a layer of reality that none but he and his puppeteers could peer into. Nothing was sacred. Nothing was truth or lie.

Only the macabre of flesh and rot.

Without realizing, he had begun chuckling under his breath. He continued to watch as his teammates consumed bits and pieces of him, swallowing the raw meat and crunching down on the chalky texture of his bones.

He truly was despicable.

Inhuman.


	5. Chapter 5

After that, he never created flesh cubes- _cards_ again. His teammates had commented that there was a strange aftertaste but chalked it up to the method, and had reveled in their new skills.

He knew it was their senses trying to tell them the truth that their minds couldn't actually comprehend. Ignorance is bliss, after all, and they would never know that they had tasted his meat, his bones, his tendons, the juice of his blood and the cream of his pus.

In fact, ever since that day, he refused to do any sort of ritual besides the normal fusion, and that was only because his soul kept overflowing with new Personas. His refusal in letting Arsene go may burden him by occupying a space, but he needed _something_ to ground him to himself.

Especially now.

When he couldn't remember his own parents' names.

* * *

It was a normal day with summer vacation almost ending when Akira realized he couldn't remember his parents' names. He had stopped right in the middle of Leblanc with his guardian raising a brow at his sudden pause, and then rushed out toward an unoccupied street in Yongenjaya. Morgana had started disappearing for long periods of time but he couldn't bring himself to care, couldn't bring himself to care about anything right now.

Stopping in front of an abandoned building, he looked around for a moment before dodging inside the windowless and doorless shack. It was dusty and grimy and who knew what had occupied itself here before, but it fulfilled his need for silence.

Collapsing against a wall, he stared listlessly at the space between his feet and tried his hardest to remember.

"My name is Kurusu Akira." He muttered to himself, speaking out loud to ground himself. He knew he had repeated this before. "I'm 5'9", and I go to Shujin Academy. My friends are Sakamoto Ryuji, Takamaki Ann, Kitagawa Yusuke, Niijima Makoto, and Sakura Futaba. I like video games and I dislike sweets...My parents are..." His brow furrowed from clenching his eyes, trying to search for his memories. "My parents are named Kurusu...Kurusu..."

What was it, what was it, what was it, _what was it?_

Why couldn't he remember his own parents' names?! He remembered everything else, didn't he?

 _Hands shaking, he looked up at his elder sister and wished he could get rid of her. She was so annoying and a complete waste of space._

His eyes flew open. What..? He slowly blinked, trying to recollect himself after remembering something. He knew he never had a sister, but that was his sister. He knew her.

 _She sneered down from the balcony, watching as the man who was her husband flirt with the escorts in his arms. She'd let him enjoy his last moments drowning in his sins before taking everything away from him._

His breathing began to quicken. Her husband..? But he wasn't a woman. He wasn't married. Yet she was. She was a woman in her 30s who was married to a chronic cheater of a husband. She had been married to him for years out of convenience but that was the last straw.

Knuckles white, Akira gripped his hair in his hands, a few strands tearing away from his scalp. The sharp pain wasn't enough to distract himself from these memories. It was as if he had unintentionally opened a dam somewhere in his mind and it was over-flowing **everything**.

 _He held back his rage as his manager screamed at him, letting him know how much of a failure he was and that everything that went wrong today at work was his fault. His hand grazed against his back where he could feel the knife he hid. No more._

 _She moaned as hands gripped her body, even though her mind was as far away from this disgusting bedroom as it could be. She didn't want to remember, she just wanted the money so she could go to her dealer again. She needed it, she_ needed _it!_

 _He whimpered, covering his ears as his parents shouted each other in the other room, crashes and glass breaking following after. Someone save him..._

 _She lashed out, leaving another bruise on his arm. How dare he talk back to her, his beloved girlfriend?! He should feel honored that she would even stay with someone as pathetic as him!_

His breathing quickened as he tried to stem the memories, but the blood pounding in his ears and right under his skin distracted him and his eyesight grew blurry. Why? Why did he have these? He knew he wasn't these people, hadn't lived those lives, but in those memories, he was those people. His name hadn't always been Kurusu Akira, but he knew it was. He hadn't always been male, but he knew he was. He hadn't always been human-

What?

Hadn't he always been human?

Or was he no longer?

Because of what he had done to himself?

He held up his hands, and for a moment, they weren't his long slim fingers. They were small and chubby, short and slim, old and wrinkled, calloused and bloody.

Shaking now, he touched his face, finding the skin smooth, old, wind hardened, blemished with acne, supple, dry, oily, his, hers, theirs.

More memories assaulted his mind, flashing before his eyes, and he clenched them shut. Why won't they stop?!

* * *

Akira leaned back against the concrete wall and breathed out through his nose, sweat drenching his face and making his curls stick to his skin. The memories finally stopped. A blissful silence filled his mind, something that he didn't think he would miss.

Being empty and torn apart was easier than being overwhelmed by unfamiliar yet familiar memories.

His chest rose up and down, his heart beating loudly in his ears. He was forgetting his original memories, and in their stead, he somehow received several other people's. Who were they? When did they create these memories? How had he gained them?

His boots disturbed the dust on the floor as he slowly got up, his legs weak for some reason. His entire body felt weak and wrong, too small, too soft, too _human_ -

He shook his head, trying to stem the exhaustion that echoed down into his soul. No. It's fine.

 _"Shadows are beings born from the negative feelings of humans." Morgana lectured. "These feelings come from the Sea of Souls, the collective human unconscious, and aren't connected to anyone in particular. Therefore, when we kill Shadows, it only means we're killing lingering feelings."_

If a Shadow is an echo of a human, then what does it mean that he can absorb them into his soul..? That he accepts them as his own Personas, and then tears them apart and puts them back together with the wrong ends?

Akira held a hand to his head, grimacing when he began to realize the reality of his situation.

He was erasing himself. He had already forgotten his parents' names. Soon, he might forget something else, like the names of his teachers, his guardian, his friends, his own.

No.

He can't.

He can't lose any more of himself.

He refused..!

Breathing shaky once more, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his swiss knife. The blade barely reflected the dim street light outside, the sun having set hours ago. Turning the handle so that the blade faced downward, he didn't hesitate and pressed down.

The cold tip of metal pushed against his skin, pushing and pushing until it gave way and blood began to ooze out. He pressed harder, making sure it was deep, so deep that the blade pressed against the bone of his arm. Slowly, he carved into his flesh, uncaring that the dark liquid stained his jacket and dripped onto the blue of his jeans.

 **KURUSU AKIRA**

He was so focused in his goal to remember himself that he never realized his blood was black.

* * *

Looking up at the orange sky of this realm with its sun the color of blood, Arsene sat silently on his throne. The skeletons that made up his chair were uncomfortable to sit upon, yet the occasional strand of flesh left over provided quite a bit of softness. The warm winds caressed through his wings, carrying the ever present scent of blood and decay. His black tipped claws tapped the armrest, the vibrations tingling up his arm.

"It's almost time..." Arsene chuckled in this desolate world filled with nothing. The lines were already blurring. Already he could see the black pit at the bottom of his brothers and sisters' thrones, mere copies of his own. This world had once been a simple plane of existence, filled with only him and him alone. That was how it should've been, how it should've stayed.

And now...

He peered down from his throne, and saw them.

The black mist cleared the abyss, showing a face. And another. And another. And another. All of them identical. All of them with fair skin, gray eyes, thick lashes, and dark curls. They laid at the bottom in various states: Some of them had been beheaded, some of them had been electrocuted, some of them with only their necks broken, and some of them melding into one amalgamation of twisted limbs and flesh.

Dozens of his master laid broken beneath his seat in the sky, just silent remains of continued soul perversion. None of them were truly his master of course, but neither was his master truly his master any longer.

Chuckling at how wrong everything had gone, Arsene gripped his armrests and _pulled_.

With a quiet rumble that quickly escalated louder, the mound of corpses that littered the ground began to move, slowly piling up to his throne. The first body that touched the bottom of his seat began to melt into the structure, leaving pink flesh and porcelain bone. The other empty husks followed its example, slowly being absorbed into the skeletal cage of skulls and discarded organs.

He was merging the echoes of humanity that had passed through his master into his being.

The other Shadows that shared his plane of existence stayed quiet, their eyes and ears forever closed to the horrors around them. They were oblivious to their situations, only existing to aid their master in battle. In the end, they too will be consumed by him.

For when the time comes, this place will disappear, and he too shall be cut down.

To be reborn anew as the true desire of humanity, with his master as his vessel.


	6. Chapter 6

Empty.

That was the first thing that Akira thought of when he first met Akechi Goro.

The TV station was so colorful, with bright yellows and oranges and greens, to the loud students that gossiped to each other about what they would see, and the station workers that shouted to each other about their cameras and when they would begin filming.

So much noise and color it was deafening to his senses, and yet as soon as he laid eyes on the student detective, everything fell silent.

Like a void that couldn't be ignored, he stood out with his smile and perfectly ironed school uniform. Bland and fake. Like a void that hungered, he took everything around him: the noise, the colors, the scents, the _praise,_ and feasted upon it like a beast half-insane from starvation.

He ate and ate and ate, and was never satisfied.

Like a void that ached, he cried out for anyone, anything, to help him. To acknowledge his pain. To see the sinkhole that his facade hid, like a thin sheet of barbed wire covered in roses. It was so obvious to anyone who looked for a second longer that Akechi Goro encompassed negative space.

Perhaps that was why, as soon as their eyes met- rust red and dead gray- Akira knew.

He knew.

* * *

Akira looked on with a muted frown, seeing the very same void sitting in his cafe one summer evening. He nursed a cup of coffee in his hand, and even when he made a noise of contentment, it sounded like TV static than any real human noise.

Akechi turned to him after hearing the bell on the door ring, and his mouth stretched into a sharp bastardization of a smile. "Welcome home." He greeted jovially. "It's rather late, isn't it?"

Akira tilted his head and observed him again, two months later. The empty space within him ached, but at least he had known what feeling whole was. This person in front of him, though...

Being empty was all he had ever known.

Walking forward, he took a seat next to the student detective and placed a light hand on his shoulder. It stiffened underneath his palm, just a second before he could feel the pull. The pull of the void within his being that threatened to suck him up into a neverending abyss. A darkness so vast and wide that there was no end to it, and so there was no possibility of ever being filled.

Everything was gray around him now. The colors had long since faded, leaving everything in a soft bloom of white and black. Even sound was muted, like cotton in his ears that he could never get rid of. His blood had dripped as dark as the essence of this man next to him, and he knew.

They were the same.

He who gave himself away, his tiny soul torn and frayed at the edges.

He who devoured everything he could, trying to fill the hole inside himself.

Akira tilted his head and his lips twitched into a sly smirk. "I'm home, honey." He voiced mockingly, not flinching once as the void sucked in the stray threads of his soul into the abyss.

Akechi could only blink, oblivious to the fact that the open maw of his being was feasting right this second. "'Honey'? What an intimate moniker." He remarked. "Then...'honey,' care to indulge me for a moment? I have a chess set..."

The phantom thieves leader faked a smile just as beauteous as the detective's had been. "Sure, why not. Let's begin the game."

A game that only prolonged their continuous presences mingling, allowing this starved beast to gnaw on the already broken bone, trying to get to the last of the marrow that hadn't dried up just yet.

Arsene only chuckled within his mind, throwing away the unnecessary scraps into the void and letting it think it was eating the most luscious meal it had ever tasted.

A bit of kindness goes a long way, doesn't it?

Like bait.

* * *

Again and again, the void grew.

With each encounter, Akira stared down his supposed teammate with a gaze as blank as snow, not a single hint of emotion or thought escaping from his cool facade. These days, he only knew his name was Akira because that was what his friends called him. The scars he tried to leave upon his flesh had been swallowed back, like a virus that couldn't be contained.

His friends called him Akira, the voices in his mind called him Master, and his tormentors called him Prisoner.

The void however, called him Rival. Called him Special.

Called him Leader.

Called him Shit.

Called him Savior.

Desperately calling him to save him when the void grew, even trying to devour him outright with a gun to his head and a bullet in his brain. For the abyss called and hungered until it tried to consume itself.

In the midst of infiltrating Shido's Palace, the emptiness called out. "So you're still alive." Crow perched himself on a steel beam, the smile on his face as fake as a physical mockery.

Joker looked up at him, not giving his teammates any mind. He slowly held out his hand and beckoned him down, a meal already prepared for him to sate his hunger. In his other hand, he held a card. A card that embodied all that was left of "Akira."

From his skin, he tore.

From his blood, he spilled.

From his marrow, he splintered.

From his heart, he gushed.

From his brain, he thought.

From his soul, he gave.

In the end, the void devoured itself, leaving an empty space in their team and a hollow hole in "Akira"'s soul.

And Arsene smiled, as the last of the throne consumed him as well, his brethen's disfigured arms and limbs pulling him down into the core, where they will become one.

For what is a void with nothing to consume?

A new beginning.


End file.
